I'LL REMEMBER THE DECIMAL IF I DO A SCAM.

At about 6 p.m Saturday, I made my first proof of the night. When I went to pick it up off the printer, however, I saw an error message: Paper jam. Brick approached the printer and said the same thing just happened to him.

We opened up all the sections of the printer but were unable to locate the source of the jam. Weird, I thought. We had to use the Living proofer for the rest of the night. At least I got me some exercise.

This occurrence made me think of Office Space. Duh. I kept channeling Samir the whole night: "Why does it say paper jam when there is no paper jam? I swear to God, one of these days, I just kick this piece of shit out the window." Now, I really know how he felt.

Before giving up, I opened and closed all the slots of the printer one more time, including the paper tray. The printer then processed the job. I was half-expecting it to then say, "PC Load Letter" (What the fuck does that mean?), but it read Paper jam again.

Like you probably are right now, I assumed that there was an actual paper jam, and we just weren't technologically sound enough to find it. And like you, I made an ass ... Well, you know the rest. I got an AIM message from AGG saying the same thing happened to the news section last week. They, too, failed to unearth the piece of paper causing the havoc.

The result for the news section was a new printer. Holy Toledo, maybe we'll get a new one as well. Then, we can make this Office Space parallel come full circle by taking that old piece of shit printer out back and beating it senseless with a baseball bat.

Damn, it would feel good to be a gangsta.

THE TINA CURSING CORNER

My mom is unhappy with the temperature in the house. "I can't get the fucking chill out of here."

Mom is not enthralled with king cake season. "Your dad bought three king cakes today. It's just a fucking doughnut."

Mom looked ahead to future storylines (we're on Season 1) of Lost. "Who the fuck would want to go back to the island?" She also told me how well The Mentalist (a total Psych ripoff) is doing. "It's No. 7 in the Nielsens. They say they got a fucking winner."

Mom had a recent dentist appointment. They're finally in their new offices. "I got a full tour of the place. They have business offices in there. What the fuck they need that for?"

Mom draws a calendar for February on the back of a sheet of paper. "I can't believe I didn't get a fucking calendar this year. Not one fucking calendar. Not my Chinese one. ... Pathetic."

Mom: You see Dr. Mancuso's note?
Me: No.
Mom: It's a fuck-up. (I checked. There is a typo on it.)

THE GENE POOL DIP (I MEAN TIP) OF THE WEEK

This week's wisdom comes from the late great Kay Yow: "When life kicks you, let it kick you forward."

I love this quote. Simple and inspiring from an inspirational source. It took four spouts of breast cancer to put her down. Four. Probably because every time she got kicked by life, she adhered to her saying and gleamed positives from the experience. We can all use a little Yow in us.

Even if her looks do remind me of my third-grade reading teacher who used to grab me by the ear and pull whenever I misbehaved. I'm lucky my right ear still is attached.

PARTING SHOTS
I'm more amused than the rest of the department at this AP mistake: The moist poignant moment ...

Derry (explaining my amusement): When you're an only child, you have to find ways to entertain yourself.
Lopes: He's got a lot of experience with that.
(Short pause.)
Bake: You have to hand it to him.
Derry (to Lopes): You pumped that one right in there.
Me: Eww.

I see that the UNO women's story has been filed in e-mail.

Me (to Brick): Did you grab the UNO women yet?
Brick: No. But you may if you'd like.

Brick is checking with Lopes on his progress.

Brick: Get ready to laugh, everyone. Andrew, how's your briefs?
Lopes: Tight.
Me (to Brick): Don't worry. He's filling them out.
Brick (to Lopes): Are they still too short?
Liam: That's what she said.

Liam is looking through e-mail.

Liam: We got an e-mail in Greek.
Me: What's it say?
Liam: I don't know. It's Greek to me.

THE DAILY TOP LIST
My top five moments of January.

5) Getting my first critic.
Even though Bawb hasn't updated recently except to say that he'll update soon.

4) Hornets vs. 76ers.
Chest-bumping with Bob and almost getting kicked out by Lady Usher. Remember that if you sit in section 312, make sure not to have too much fun.

3) New Year's Eve party.
OK. So, that started in December. But there was a lot of fun to be had after midnight.

2) Volkswagen botches my oil change again.
Three strikes and you're out.

1) Gillie and Brian's wedding.
It did take four days to recap it.

THE GENE POOL VS. FINNEY. DING.

As you may or may not know, I have an ongoing one-sided rivalry with longtime T-P sports columnist Peter Finney. The rivalry is a result of a joke that I have a shot at breaking his tenure record.

Finney started at The States (T-P precursor of sorts) on June 22, 1945, fresh out of Jesuit (yuck). (He'll make 64 years in a few months.) I started here at the T-P on August 20, 2001, while a senior at Rummel (hoorah). The rivalry is a natural one. You know, if he had any clue as to who I am. If Finney were to retire this year (and that's not likely), I would have to stay with the company (in whatever form that may be) until 2065 to catch him. Uh. Uh. Uh.

Let's take a look at some facts that put me over in this feud.

1) Finney does not have a wikipedia page. I do. Of course, I wrote it myself, and it's short and sweet. But still. If you search for Peter Finney on wikipedia, you get: Did you mean Peter Finch? Ha. Ha. Ha.

2) No. of blog entries.
Me: 216 (counting this one).
Finney: "Uh, what was that word you just used?" (For crying out loud, he doesn't even use e-mail.)

I'm sure if we did know each other, we would get along. We both went to Loyola. We both worked here all our adult lives. We both love New Orleans. We both love sports. We both love to gamble. Etc.

All this put together made my recent discovery of an American novel all the more amazing. I was looking up sentence structures to make sure I didn't look like a fool in a grammar posting when I found this sentence on wikipedia: Gene thought that Finny wanted venerability, but Finny, who did not care, thought that he was just being a friend.

I did a double-take. Was wikipedia spying on me? No, I soon realized. Gene and Finny (OK. It's missing the "e." Wanna fight about it?) are the main characters in John Knowles' novel, A Separate Peace. How is it that nobody has ever pointed this out to me?

The novel is about Gene's journey back to his old high school to face his fears of long ago. He reflects back on his days as a student while there. Finny (actual name Phineas) was his best friend, despite their polarizing personalities.

Then, as I was reading the description on wikipedia, some similarities to my situation were down right scary. For instance, it says that Gene was the best student at the high school. Close enough. Gene created something called "Sarcastic Summer" of 1942. Hey, I'm sarcastic.

According to the summary, Gene is competing with Finny. Uh, yeah we are. I'm going to catch that old fart one day. It also says that Gene has a love-hate relationship with Finny, whom he both adores and envies. Hmm. I admire Finney for his longevity and spirit. I envy him because he's got 56 years of work on me.

As CP3 would say: Man, that's crazy. The summary, however, doesn't really say how the novel concludes. The question is: Am I intrigued enough to find a copy of the book and read it?

Stay tuned.

THE TINA CURSING CORNER

My mom is excited to show me how good of shape Obama is in on the front page of the Living section. I look at it.
Me: Well, you know, he is the greatest man who ever lived.
Mom: Now, you sound just like your dad. Two fucking peas in a pod.

Mom watched the next four episodes of Lost. She was confused by the storyline with Sawyer. "I thought he was the little boy. Then, I realized the girl on the couch was the girl he was fucking earlier."

Mom found humor in the plight of Sun. "She's fucked. She didn't have to get on the plane. Now, she's lost on a fucking island with his ass."

Mom is unaware of the recent octuplets. Probably because they haven't been on Oprah yet. I inform her of their existence. "I don't know what's wrong with people. She was probably on some sort of fucking fertility drug." (Bingo. Bango. But why is this lady, already with six kids, on fertility drugs?)

MOVIE REVIEW: THE WRESTLER

Of course, I had to go see this movie. It was getting great reviews, and it was about wrestling. I can't give this film a ringing endorsement, though. Which sort of hurts because I was expecting to love it.

My likes were threefold
1) Mickey Rourke was outstanding. He nailed the part (and a chick in the bathroom).
2) The wrestling scenes were realistic. I was impressed. You can tell they really put some time into it.
3) Marisa Tomei was naked. Like a lot. Va-voom. She even shook her ass a little. Now I know why George dumped Susan to be with her. (Can you believe Tomei now has been nominated for Best Supporting Actress three times?)

Other than that, it was OK. I don't think I'll own it on DVD. It's a solid character study, but in the end, it just didn't do it for me. Well, except the parts where Marissa was naked.

PARTING SHOTS
Brick and Sandy are discussing Netflix. Sandy and her husband like the system because their kids can watch DVDs like Thomas the Tank Engine. Sandy is on the three-disc plan.

Brick: So, ya'll get three discs of Thomas the Train every time?
Sandy: No. We get Thomas the Train. And then we get an adult movie.

Brick is leaving work.

Me: It was a weak night for quotes.
Brick: Did I make it?
Me: No.
Brick: Shit. I told Doug I want a bonus every time I appear on The Gene Pool.

THE DAILY TOP LIST
My top five Super Bowl watching memories.

5) XXVI-XXX.
From 1992 to 1996, my parents and I went to a big Super Bowl party in Harahan. Must have been 50 people. Most of these were blowouts, and I remember playing with the other kiddies (causing havoc) in the second half.

4) Ravens 34, Giants 7. XXXV.
Party at my house. I ate a lot of snacks that night.

3) Patriots 20, Rams 17. XXXVI.
Party at Minkus' house. Half the guests were on the field for halftime before arriving in the second half.

2) Giants 17, Patriots 14. XLII.
Watching Lopes celebrate winning a square in a sizable pool. Pure joy, that was. First, he exalted over the Great Helmet Escape Catch. Then, he jumped up and down (at work) for Plaxigun's touchdown catch. Finally, the Giants stopping the Pats at the end had Lopes screaming victory.

1) Bucs 48, Raiders 21. XXXVII.
Party at some body's house involved with The Maroon. I remember this event for three reasons.
1) It was the last Super Bowl I didn't watch at the T-P.
2) We all bet, on my suggestion, on the final score. I didn't come closest.
3) It's the Super Bowl where I invented my different-bag-of-chips-per-quarter rule.

HOLY VATICAN, BATMAN!

January's Yat-Together was Wednesday at Venezia's. We almost didn't have one this month. Not that that hasn't happened before. But still, we wanted to avoid a miss. And were successful. In attendance to kick off our 2009 festivities: Kelli, Stephen, Bode, Greg and me. We're open to suggestions for future meetings. 

The funniest moment of the evening came when Greg reached for a drink of water. I noticed him stretching to get to the glass. I thought that was odd. Why is his drink so far away? 

As he was pulling the glass close for a sip, Bode cut him off. "What are you doing, man? That's my glass." Bode was right. Greg was confused for a second until he realized his glass was right in front of him. It's always funny when somebody grabs the wrong glass. I do this often myself. 

The main topics of conversation were the current state of TV, Kelli and Stephen's trip to Orlando (Kelli's like fourth time there in the past year) and Bode, Greg and I reminiscing about Rummel. The Orlando trip was during the offseason for vacations, so there weren't any lines. Bastards. I had to wait like 45 minutes to get on the Men in Black ride last March. 

Kelli told a cute school story. She assigned the class to write a paper. Part of the instructions was to have it double-spaced. One of the students was more than confused by this requirement and double-spaced between each word. Kelli couldn't help but laugh at the student. I don't blame her. 

At work, we order from Venezia's quite often. Usually, I split a pizza because it's decent and cheap. But for the Yat-Together, I went large. I ordered the Eggplant Vatican: eggplant covered in a sauce that includes shrimp, crawfish and crab meat with pasta alfredo on the side. 

Sweet mother mercy, it was awesome. That sauce is killer. You can't really ever argue against shrimp, crawfish and crab meat, and the eggplant added the perfect background. Got a solid lunch out of it today, too. 

Bode and Greg ordered a pizza. I felt like I had warped to Saturday night's dinner looking at it. 

THE TINA CURSING CORNER

My mom is rigging a light to work by placing it in the blender. I ask her for the reason. She pulls the light out of the blender to show me. "Look at it. It's broke, dumbass."

Mom just finished cooking. "I can't be next to the stove. It's too fucking hot right now." 

Mom asks me to order some tanning product online. I tell her that it might not be easy to find. "I ask for one fucking thing, and it's like I'm asking for a heart!" 

PARTING SHOTS

Pancho's is reopening on Airline. This brought much joy to the T-P on Thursday. Derry, in particular, was on cloud nine, telling everyone he could find of the news.

Trey: There goes Derry's diet.

Jelly tells us that Joe the Security Guard told her he doesn't always lie when he tells her how beautiful she looks. 

JRap: He thinks my name is Chris. 

Me: C-Rap.

(Jelly and I look at each other. Pause.)

Together: Crap!

D is perturbed at the lack of focus in Finney's column. 

D: Did you see how Finney hopped around? 

Me: That's impressive at his age. 

THE DAILY TOP LIST

My favorite five beer slogans.

5) Always a good choice. Sam Adams. 

It's fun to say. Even if someone doesn't order a Sam Adams. 

4) Why ask why? Try Bud Dry. Budweiser.

I used to repeat this a lot as a child. Had no idea what Bud Dry was. 

3) Hooray Beer! Red Stripe. 

Official beer of the Slackers. 

2) The One and Only. New Castle.

It most certainly is. 

1) Tastes great. Less filling. Miller Lite.

I'm partial to any slogan that reminds me of a catfight. 

I'M A REBEL.


I've always thought of myself as a rule-breaker. Not the important rules that could land me in jail or anything. But little rules that stick it to the man. I break 'em because I can. It's fun.


Part of it is stealing things, like a Brother Martin soccer ball or that little something something I took from the wedding earlier in the month. You're not supposed to take pictures in a casino, yet I've published two on this site. What they gonna do about it?


So, when I took my camera out at the movies the other day and Palace hotshot Paul told me that it was against the rules to take a picture inside the theatre, naturally I was going to snap a photo. What did Paul do about it? Nothing. He sat, err stood, there and took it.


Kelly uses a coupon to buy a small drink and small popcorn. She used a coupon and still paid $4.75. Yawzer. Correction. I paid for that.

We saw Paul Blart: Mall Cop. That movie was a homeless man's Die Hard. A man is alone in a building with a bunch of bad guys and picks them off one by one. Some of the stunts were similar. I forgot what it was, but Kevin James wrote a note on one of the bad guys that reminded me of Die Hard's Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas. It was pretty lame overall, though.

THE TINA CURSING CORNER

My mom is making breakfast. "Fuck. I got so much shit to do. He's up at fucking 4 o'clock. It's my evening."

Mom and I are watching House. Mom gives advice to Wilson concerning Cuddy. "Tell her some women aren't meant to have kids, asshole."

Mom wants me to see if Christina can get her a discount. I ask mom if she wants me to take a sample bottle to show her. "You'll probably leave it on the fucking table if you bring it in the restaurant. Just ask her if she can get a discount. Probably can get it for fucking $20. They don't give you much in here for $60."

Mom is upset at the radio. "I drove to the tanning place for five fucking minutes this morning. I have like eight radio stations. Maybe more. And I didn't hear one fucking song the whole time. Irritating. Talking bullshit."

FOUR CORNERS

A closer look at The Gene Pool world.

-- The Causeway entrance ramp reopened last Friday for the first time since November 2007. I was relieved because it shortens my drive by three to five minutes. Unfortunately, I didn't realize this Friday until I passed it, which cost me at least five minutes. Argh.

Mom went that way Wednesday. "There's this big ol' fucking sign saying to enter bridge in right-hand lane. I can't believe you didn't see that fucking sign. Then I was the only one on there. I was like 'Oh fuck. Maybe no one else realizes it's open.' I was like 'What the fuck? Is this thing finished?' "

-- I've decided to read the Metro section of the T-P every day. It just has so much information about the happenings of the area in there. It's crazy. I feel like I'm aware of the surroundings more. People commit some weird crimes. I also like reading the letters to the editor.

This idea came about when I was unaware of the Causeway opening, and it was the main story on that day's Metro section. I tell mom that the crime stories end up in the paper almost a week later. "It takes a while to get all that shit together."

Plus, it answered my call in yesterday's blog about finding David West immediately. There he was in Wednesday's section reading a book to some disadvantaged youth. He's alive!

-- I've met a good number of people in the past two months. All of them through Bob. Maybe I should make him my social director.

-- I had one of those I'm-a-complete-moron moments last Sunday. Let's go back to my college days at the Maroon. The campus police used to send out these alerts about crime called BOLO alerts. For some reason, I never found out what the letters meant.

I thought the LO was for Loyola and the BO was something obvious I just didn't know about that had to do with the police. I was watching Psych on Sunday, and they used BOLO as a joke. Huh, that wasn't just a Loyola thing, I thought.

Then, a character said what the letters meant: Be on the lookout. Oh boy, I thought. How could I be so freakin' stupid?

PARTING SHOT

I tell Jelly the story of Lady Usher on a snack break. We're heading back to our desks and pass in front of the design computer.

Me: That woman has been a bitch all year long.

Anne: Gene, are you talking about me?

THE DAILY TOP LIST

My favorite five TV bosses.

5) Dr. Cuddy. House.

I would have fired House years ago.

4) Dr. Kelso. Scrubs.

Kelso: "What has two thumbs and doesn't give a crap? This guy."

3) Bill Buchanon. 24.

Has led our country through many bad days.

2) Louie De Palma. Taxi.

Danny DeVito played this little rat perfectly.

1) Michael Scott. The Office.

Michael: "Grief doesn't have to be bad. There is a such thing as good grief. Just ask Charlie Brown."

I'M BEING WAY TOO LOUD LATELY.

The fifth game of my Hornets 10-game package was Monday night against the 76ers. I went with Bob. We met at Chuck's house and used his parking pass to park for free at the game. Sweet. Thanks, guy.

When we turned the corner after entering the building, a worker mumbled something to me. I didn't know how to respond, and we just kept walking. 

Bob: What did he say to you?

Me: I need everything you got.

Bob: What was that? A holdup? 

Then, when we got to Section 312, the usher stopped us as we were walking by her and demanded we show her our tickets. This is the second time she's done that to me this season. I'm sitting in the freaking $25 section. Who sneaks into the $25 section? 

There is absolutely no point for an usher in the 300-level to be checking tickets. That's for the ushers in the 100 level. And if I was going to sneak into the $25 section, I would enter in the $10 section and walk over without an usher seeing me. Does she get off by sending people trying to upgrade $15 on seat location back to their assigned section? 

  

Paging, Mr. West. Mr. West. Has anyone seen David West? Is he being kept in some special back chamber underground? ... What? He's too big to show up for a home game and cheer his teammates? I demand to know his whereabouts. Immediately. 

A rabbi delivered the pregame prayer. Bob: "You think Ju-Ju asked for the rabbi?" Ha. The rabbi had a unique presentation. Rabbi: "As Tyson Chandler knows, everything in life is not a slam dunk. Peja knows that sometimes in life, you have to take a long shot. And only with CP3 is stealing OK. Don't forget to tip your accountants come tax time." All right. I made up that last part. 

The halftime show was interesting. It was Rubber Boy, the most flexible human in the world. He did some sick shit, yo.

I turn to Bob during this novelty act and say: "You think he ever ...

Bob: That's just what I was thinking. 

(Less than a minute later, Rubber Boy sniffs his butt.)

Bob: Probably. 

Meet Ryan Bowen's fan club, led by the guy cupping his hands to his mouth wearing the white hat. After Bowen made a fantastic hustle play, they started chanting: Ry-an Bow-en. Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap. Then, a few seconds later, Bowen makes another crazy hustle play. And repeat the chant. I like to call them Bowen's Bonanzas. 

Game-wise, there were two memorable happenings Monday. 1) Peja's five consecutive 3-balls from just about the same spot on the floor. This led to Bob and me doing multiple chest bumps. 2) CP3 coming up three steals shy of the second ever quadruple double involving steals. He almost had an eighth (a jump ball was called) and a ninth (he knocked the ball loose, but it went out of bounds before he could corral it). 

At the beginning of the fourth quarter, Bob and I moved down to the third row. I know a few of the people sitting in the second row, and it was much closer. (There were a lot of empty seats.) The Hornets (mainly through Peja's 3s) went on a tear. The 76ers called a timeout, and the crowd stood up and clapped all the way through the break. 

Peja hit more 3s after that, and the atmosphere in the building was insane. Not a big crowd, but a boisterous one. It was the most fun I've had at a Hornets game all year. 

That is until the usher made her presence felt. She gave us quite the speech for about three solid minutes. We ignored her for as long as possible and kept up with the game. 

Somewhere in there, she said: "I've been getting complaints about you two all night. A lady told me she had to switch to the other side of the section because she couldn't see. (Something about us being in the wrong seat.) Now, let me see your tickets." What a bitch. 

I give her our tickets, and she tells us to return to our assigned seats. We showed her, though, by sitting several rows closer than our actual seats. Of course, I've only sat in my assigned seat once out of the five games I've attended in section 312. 

Before I left the third row, I announced to anyone within earshot. "Sorry, guys. I was having too much fun. Sorry about that." 

I tried to take a picture of second-row Brian defending us to Lady Usher. The cotton candy man, however, decided to set up shop in the middle of the walkway. A line almost started to form down the steps. Seriously. 

Finally, I got a shot of second-row Brian and Lady Usher. 

First of all, Lady Usher has a power issue. I don't think she realizes she's an usher on the 300-level. Her job is basically pointless. All she can really do is listen to people bitching about other people and then tell the person being bitched about to cut it out. Maybe she can eject someone. I thought she was going to kick me out. It would have been so on, Lady Usher. So on. 

Second, who complains to an usher about people standing and cheering? Fake fans, I guess. It's a freaking basketball game, people. You're supposed to get excited, make noise, chest bump and jump around some. Otherwise, you might as well stay home and watch it on the couch. Besides, the 300-level was half-full at best Monday. No one should have been in any one's way. Ugh. 

 1) The Hornets are 5-0 in my package games. 

2) Special thanks to Andre Miller for fouling Butler at the end so the Hornets could reach 100 points and get me a free chicken wrap today. My theory is that Miller (with a stack of programs) went around all day today to every Popeye's in the area and bought a wrap. Don't worry. He gave some of them away to the homeless. The man has a big heart.

3) Bob and I came up with a much more better nickname for the Honeybees. WHORENETS. I'm sure you can figure out our inspiration. Plus, it doesn't refer to them as bees. 

THE TINA CURSING CORNER

My mom recalls my behavior as a kindergarten. I was a problem for the teachers. I always got frowny faces. "I used to be like, 'What is this bullshit?' They wanted to know why you were acting like that. I was like, 'It's because he's fucking bored. He's already had this shit.' " (It was my second time in kindergarten. Age issue.) 

Oprah is running shows on weight loss. "I've been dieting since I was fucking 14-years-old."

One of the bad guys on 24 is confusing mom. "I can't believe this asshole trusts Jack. He don't know who he is?" 

I tell mom that Mickey Rourke will fight at WrestleMania XXV. "He used to be sexy. Then, he couldn't get any parts. He started getting in the ring to box, and he fucked up his face." 

A soap opera messes up on the DVR. Mom can't hit fast forward through the commercials without it messing up. So, she had to watch the show as if it was live. "What the hell? No! What the fuck? ... This thing ain't worth a fuck." 

I buy a king cake from around the corner.

Mom: How much was it?

Me: $21.70.

Mom: That much? It's just a doughnut. That's all it fucking is. A doughnut. A fucking cinnamon roll.

PARTING SHOTS

Gamby is describing someone in the local community.

Gamby: He's always looking for a quick buck. 

Bake: Excuse me. What did you say?

Gamby (slower): A quick buck. 

Bake: Oh. I misunderstood you. 

Max reads my Tyler song set to the House of the Rising Sun. We make up a new song. 

Max: Oh, Tina, tell your children.

Me: To curse as much as you can.

Max: Spend your lives.

Me: Cursing up a storm. Down in ... 

Max: Harahan. 

We're discussing what would happen if our office played Survivor using nola.com.

Me: Jelly, what would be your strategy? Just smile? 

Bake: Cle...

Jelly (cutting Bake off): Cleavage.

Bake: ...ean language.

THE DAILY TOP LIST

My top five french fries.

5) Tina's.

She cooks them on the patio. 

4) Popeye's.

Love that batter from Popeye's.

3) Chez Picayune.

Thin and crispy. Goes perfect with a No. 1. 

2) Wendy's. 

Only fries I don't eat with ketchup.

1) Bruno's.  

Waffle style. Always crunchy. 

ONE OF US. ONE OF THEM.

The fourth volume of Heroes starts next Monday. Having read some recent comments by the show's creator concerning the new volume, I'm excited. The show is promising a return to its roots. As in more like Volume 1. Goodie. 

What better time than now then to do a character comparison to all the people I know who watch the show. Or at least would again if it returned to its Vol. 1 glory. Characters must currently be involved in the storyline. I don't have anyone for Sylar.  

ME: Peter Petrelli. Peter has the ability to absorb any person's power who comes near him. I have the ability to absorb any piece of information that I read. Of course, I forget a lot of stuff, much like when Peter lost his abilities. Also, we both like cheerleaders. 

MINKUS: Hiro Nakamura. Both are nerds. Both like Asian women. Both wear glasses and often push the rim back up against their forehead. Hiro had trouble holding on to the formula but eventually got it back. Minkus used to take two hours to complete a Calculus test but somehow found a way to use enough formulas to do better than me. 

BRICK: HRG. They are protective parents. HRG spends most of his time keeping Claire safe. Brick wouldn't be opposed to answering the door with a shotgun to show his daughter's date that he means business. HRG operates in shades of gray. Brick's shit-stirring puts him in that same area. 

GREG: Nathan Petrelli. Nathan started off as a lawyer and has had plans hatched for him to become president. Greg is about to finish law school, and then who knows. Plus, he came to my 24th birthday party dressed as Nathan. 

KAILA: Angela Petrelli. Angela wielded her power as the head of the company. Kaila has been known to wield her power in tackle football. Not that I would know anything about that. At all. Anyway, neither will put up with your shit. 

BERT: Mohinder Suresh. Mohinder is involved in scientific analysis, whether it be about evolution, viruses or formulas. Bert analyzes everything and often times comes up with these random scientific explanations that blow my mind. Both like to look at all sides of an argument. 

LISA: Claire Bennet.  Not first-two-volumes Claire. I'm talking third-volume and future Claire. You know, the bad ass that takes no prisoners and kills anyone in the way. Lisa's nickname at the Maroon was the Enforcer. Claire can heal. Lisa has healed from me breaking her back on numerous occasions. 

DERRY: The Haitian. The Haitian's presence prevents someone from using their power. Derry is so loud sometimes he prevents the department from looking professional. Pipe down, man. The Haitian is extremely loyal to the Petrelli family. Derry, like me, still cheers for the Cubs and the Saints. We are either loyal or brain damaged. I'm going with loyal. 

KELLY: Daphne. Daphne's power is running really fast. Kelly's mouth runs really fast. Sometimes, I miss entire sentences. Parkman has to constantly convince Daphne that she can be good, as Daphne has confidence issues. Kelly never gives herself any credit either. 

PAUL: Matt Parkman. They have a similar look. They can both read my mind. They're both a little naive and are hopeless romantics. 

THE TINA CURSING CORNER

On the next episode of Lost, Charlie is back to his snorting ways. My mom wants to know the name of the substance. Mom (to Charlie): "What the fuck are you doing?" 

Mom reads in the paper about the 28-year-old who beat the crap out of his parents (killing his dad) because he grew tired of them. "Ain't that something? He's fucking smiling, too."  

Mom almost bought a computer off QVC last night. "It was five-easy payments of $159, and it had all this shit with it. My finger was on the button."

Mom opens the mail. I don't know what she was looking at. "What the shit is this?"

Mom tells me her plans for a Miami vacation. I ask her when she wants to go. "At the beginning of the summer. I don't want to get stuck over there if a fucking hurricane comes." 

DID YOU KNOW?

Did you know that Sunday is the Super Bowl? Oh yeah. Definitely this Sunday. That's something you were already aware of? For reals? OK, but did you also know that Arizona has never been to the Super Bowl before this season? 

The Super Bowl is one of my favorite events of the year. It combines so many things I like. Football. Commercials. Parties. Tells me the Pro Bowl is coming up. 

PARTING SHOT

Bob tells me that he has some catching up to do on his Poolside Bob blog.

Me: Don't you miss being indifferent? (That's his favorite word on his blog.)

Bob: Not really. (pause.) See what I did there?

THE DAILY TOP LIST

My favorite five movie trilogies (or more).  

5) Back to the Future.

You know the third one has the Cubs winning the World Series. 

4) Die Hard.

I like the original title for the fourth one better. Die Hard 4: Die Hardest.

3) Austin Powers. 

There are only two things that scare me in this world, and one is nuclear war.  

2) Lethal Weapon.

Diplomatic immunity. ... It's just been revoked. 

1) Indiana Jones.

It's a trilogy. Ignore that crap from last year. 

HE'S NO NORMAN BATES.

Let's be honest. I have a man-crush on Tyler Hansbrough. That's no secret. I named a stuffed animal Tar Heel after him for crying out loud.  

I'm tracking his chase of the record books. He needs 260 points (or about 14 a game) to break Redick's all-time ACC scoring mark. And he needs 45 free throws (I've been counting down on this one since 172) to break Dickie Hemric's career free-throws made record. 

Frankly, I'm appalled by all the hate thrown his way. Granted, the media (namely ESPN) treats him like he's God's daily gift to us. I understand that the coverage focused on him is a little much. It's not like he's Michael Jordan or anything close. But just because they talk so well of him doesn't mean people have to hate him. That's just mean. 

I started liking Tyler in November of 2005. It was the first game I ever saw him play. There was no attention being paid to him whatsoever. It was pure. And he kept growing on me more and more every game. So, it's not like the media just invented him out of nowhere. 

Now, I'm the first one to criticize Tyler. There have been two games this season where I thought his play was pathetic. That's right. Pathetic. But he plays the game with an intensity that every fan should demand their players emulate. OK. OK. I won't get carried away writing everything that makes him so awesome. Nah. I'll do that in song. 

There is a man at UNC (There is a house in New Orleans)

They call him Psycho T (They call the Rising Sun)

And he's been the ruin of many a record (And it's been the ruin of many a poor boy)

And J.J., you're up, you see (And God, I know I'm one)

He plays Texas ping pong (My mother was a tailor)

Off the roof for a thrill (She sewed my new blue jeans)

At some frat house into a pool (My father was a gamblin' man)

Down in Chapel Hill (Down in New Orleans)

Now getting to the free-throw line (Now the only thing a gambler needs)

Is what he does best (Is a suitcase and trunk)

And he'll survive in the NBA (And the only time he's satisfied)

Because he'll be a pest (Is when he's on a drunk)

Oh, coaches, tell your players (Oh, mother, tell your children)

That he intends to play mean (Not to do what I have done)

Attack the glass and lose a contact (Spend your lives in sin and misery)

In the house of Jordan and Dean (In the house of the rising sun)

Well, he's got range, a spin move (Well, I got one foot on the platform)

And a weird hooking toss (The other foot on the train)

He's going back to the Final Four (I'm goin' back to New Orleans)

And not to get a loss (To wear that ball and chain)

Repeat first verse

THE TINA CURSING CORNER

I'm watching the first disc of Lost with my mom. Charlie has some type of drug on him. "I thought it was coke. But it's fucking yellow. There ain't no yellow fucking coke." Then, a few scenes later, Charlie snorts it. Mom still is confused. "What the fuck is that?" 

A group of about seven islanders go to climb the mountain to try to get a signal. I comment that it's weird because only like two people really needed to go. "Yeah. They don't need all those fucking people to get a signal." 

I'm sitting in my room after just waking up. Mom is watching TV in the living room, and I can hear a commercial for some type of skin cream. The ad finishes. "Bulllllllllshit!" 

Mom then walks by my room. She thinks I am still sleeping. "He's going to sleep his fucking life away." 

Mom wants to know if I want to go to Circuit City for the going-out-of-business sale. I say I don't want to wait in line. "It's not worth you waiting in line. It's worth me waiting in lane. Because you don't give a shit."

Mom is watching a tape. She hits fast forward. "I'm sick of fucking commercials." 

OWN THIS

The word own is used mainly as an adjective or a verb. The verb part is simple. I own a sweet hat collection. CP3 owned Jason Kidd in the playoffs last season. As an adjective, however, own is useless and can be added to our growing list of such words.

Usually, own is used for emphasis. Which might be fine for speaking but in the written word, it looks rather asinine. Exs: We want to hear your own opinion. He has his own way of doing things. Both sentences are better off without own. Ex: Everyone has his own locker. Now, "Everyone has his locker" loses the spirit of the thought. Still, own is unnecessary. You can simplify: Everyone has a locker. 

The main two examples I can think of from the sports universe: 1) The Saints will start the drive at their own 33-yard line. 2) The Dolphins control their own destiny (the use of the word destiny is a whole other matter). Clearly, own is redundant and any announcer or writer should be beaten with a stick every time they use these. 

Own is acceptable in turns of phrase such as "to each his own" or "Here I go again on my own." I think these don't bother me because own is at the end of the clause. I guess. 

Credit to JRap for pointing this atrocity out to me. He doesn't have his own blog to do it. Oops.  

PARTING SHOT

I'm flipping through the channels at work Saturday and stop on the U.S. Figure Skating Championships for a few seconds. Liam says he doesn't like figure skating (or does he?). 

Me: You ever see how skimpy the girls' outfits are. And the moves they do in pairs. It's all borderline porn. 

Liam: Man, when I see that on, I get off as fast as possible. 

THE DAILY TOP LIST

My top five grammar school teachers and what they wrote in my seventh-grade yearbook.

5) Ms. Hecker. 4th, 6th grade English. 

She wasn't there anymore, but once in fourth grade, she casually warned me about another student getting close to my level by whispering into my ear: "You better watch your back."

4) Mrs. Savoie. 6th, 7th grade Religion.

"You are a terrific young man. I have truly enjoyed teaching you. I wish you the best in life. Promise that you will chill out just a bit."

3) Mrs. Stein. 7th grade English.

"You're without a doubt, one of the best students that I have ever taught. Your potential is tremendous!"  

2) Mrs. Bouffard. 7th grade Science.

"I hope you go on to obtain all your dreams and try to keep active in clubs and social events to help balance your academic drive! I'll really miss your wit and humor! You have outstanding talents - keep using them - and smile more often!!" 

1) Mr. Patent. 5th, 7th grade Math.

This is from sixth grade: "You're a dancing machine. I hope you're ready for me again next year. Work on those Final Four picks." 

JOKES MIGHT BRIGHTEN THE MOOD.

This week has been one of the most boring weeks in the history of my life. If you don't count the Hornets game Monday (and that CP3 buzzer-beater), I've done absolutely nothing since the wedding. Granted, it took me like three days to recover from that thing (my eye still is a little red).

It's been wake up. Go to work. Blog. Go home. Watch some TV. Sleep. Repeat. Which is nice in a way because I haven't had to do anything. But I haven't seen anyone besides Tina and my co-workers all week. I need some excitement. Yup, it's time to rumble.

Hopefully, next week will bring more excitement. Until then, here's some jokes I've had for a while but have never shared with you. If I help write a movie some day, these are going in there one way or another.

1) Everyone knows "whatever floats your boat" and "whatever tickles your pickle." But I've been using my own version of that since like 2004. Someone says something they do that's strange, and I say: "Well, whatever juggles your bubbles."

2) Parents sit down their teenage son to explain some things. Dad sings this: The birds and the bees will bring you disease. Bring you disease.

3) Warning: This one is a little gross. A character, we'll call him Jeff, has a strained look on his face.

Friend: Hey, man. What's wrong?
Jeff: I have to go to the bathroom. (They'd be in a situation without an accessible toilet.)
Friend: Is it No. 2?
Jeff: Nope.
Friend: Oh. Then you can hold it.
Jeff: 'Fraid not.
Friend: What you mean?
Jeff: It's a No. 3.
Friend: Huh?
Jeff: No. 1 plus No. 2.
Friend: Ohhhhhhh.

THE TINA CURSING CORNER

I'm watching the first disc of Lost. The main character's name is Jack.

Me: There's too many main characters named Jack. Jack Dawson. Jack Sparrow. Jack Bauer.
My mom: Jackass.

Mom cleaned house today. "I don't want to fucking do this anymore."

Mom ventures into my back room, a room I hardly use. Enjoy the rant. "This isn't a room. It's garbage. Everything is useless. A waste of space. ... You can't touch something without it falling on you. ... You want a cassette? Take one. They're everywhere. ... Bullshit. I ain't wasting my fucking day on this shit. Fucking shit. I ain't wasting my fucking time cleaning this crap. You want it cleaned, clean in yourself. ... No fucking way."

Mom takes a break from cleaning. "What you think of Circuit City going out of business? Fucking store ain't even been open two years."

Mom's outlook of the future isn't positive for schooling. "Things are getting bad, man. You can't even afford to send your kids to fucking college. Jesus. Grammar school is fucking outrageous. Fucking ridiculous."

TV WEEK IN REVIEW

Best scene: 24. Jack is forced to shoot the FBI woman but tricks his bad guy boss by grazing her in the neck with a bullet. Classic Jack. Of course, the boss then made Jack bury her alive. I was confused by the ending. It seems as though she won't be buried deeply as the bad guys are on a timetable. Which means she should be able to escape and get treatment in time.

Yet, they gave her the silent-clock ticking treatment reserved for major deaths. What's up with that?

Other things I liked this week: 1) Jim's prank on Dwight to start The Office. Not top 5 material but pretty funny with the never-ending wire out of the computer.

2) Alec Baldwin's motivational speech to himself in the mirror: "You are a lion. Take what's yours." I shall use that.

3) The entire setup of the How I Met Your Mother episode. Cried a little at the end. I especially like the five-word-phrases-that-never-turn-out-well montage (i.e. we should buy a bar, I can jump that far).

4) House's snarky response to "Your cure is to torture him?" House: "No. Torture is the cure."

This week's rant: In a tip of the week once, I told you never to laugh at the phrase "I threw up in my mouth a little bit." Yes, that remains true. In fact, it keeps getting less funny every time I hear it. Yet, people still are laughing at this pathetic excuse for a joke. What is wrong with you people of the world?

I bring this up because twice in the past two weeks I've heard this joke. Once on Gary UnMarried (People's Choice Award for best new comedy) and the other time on Two and 4/5 Men (People's Choice Award for favorite comedy). Two and 4/5 Men (yeah, Jake keeps getting bigger) even kept the joke going. Ugh.

PARTING SHOTS
Brick brought in a king cake Saturday. No one was claiming to have got the baby.

Derry: Marcus ate so much he had a 50-50 chance of getting the baby.
Me: He'd probably put the baby back in there like he did last time.
Marcus: No. No. You're confused. I had baby-back ribs.

I'm reading about the Senior Bowl.

Me: Pat White was the MVP. He threw a TD pass to Mike Wallace.
Liam: That gives new meaning to the Senior Bowl.

THE DAILY TOP LIST
The top five reasons for me to move out.

5) To have a place to bring a girl.
Quit laughing.

4) I'd know where everything is located.
When Tina cleans up, she puts stuff in different places. That usually leaves me on a treasure hunt.

3) I can be as loud as I want.
Blare some music. Blare the TV.

2) Not being yelled at 24-7.
Except when she came to visit, of course.

1) Independence.
And everything that goes with that.

TWO FOR THE ROAD

Last Friday, two mainstays of the T-P had their final day of work. Charlie worked here for 46 years. He might have been the most well-liked guy on the third floor, and he worked on the second floor.

Charlie smiles for The Gene Pool. I'm kidding. He's really overwhelmed by all the love at his retirement speech. The designers (I think) made some thing with their pictures on it with the headline: Charlie's Angels. Warms the heart, I know. Charlie talked about his days in the army and how he never meant to stay here when he arrived.

There was less fanfare for Tommy, who was here for a good while. Somewhere in the mid-20s probably. The prep department got a little less energetic and corny last Friday.

When I first started here, I worked with Tommy a lot. He always had something smart-alecy to say, and I liked that. He helped me fit right in here. He always had pun jokes, knowledge and random questions usually best ignored. Tommy showed me how to type in a prep score on my first day.

When my assignment in Intro to Writing (fall 2002) was to write a feature story on someone you know, I knew Tommy would be my man. I interviewed him that night and was done the story by the end of the shift. I remember two other things. 1) I got an A. 2) Tommy said in the story: "I'm a jack of all trades and a master of none."

I'm not going to lie. I had to fight back the tears when he left the building Friday night.

THE TINA CURSING CORNER

My phone battery is about to go out, and the phone is making that beeping noise signaling a low battery. My mom is aggravated by the noise. It beeps. "Plug in the motherfucker!"

We got two Netflix dics in the mail recently. Lost season 1 for me; Six Feet Under season 4 for her. "How come Lost is four episodes and fucking Six Feet Under is only two?" ... Mom watched both discs. "I started watching Lost because I watched the two fucking Six Feet Unders so quick."

Mom is watching a Lost episode. I'm in the other room. She talks to a character. "Hey, asshole. ... "

Mom now thinks James Cromwell will turn into a bad guy, even on Six Feet Under. "It never fucking fails, does it?"

THE GENE POOL DIP (I MEAN TIP) OF THE WEEK

Previously, I told you how to score free appetizers at various Copeland establishments using the free Hornets program you get at the game. Recently, I realized how to cheat the system some more using that same program.

If the Hornets score 100 points, Popeye's gives away free chicken wraps (red beans and rice and a chicken strip folded into a tortilla) the next day with presentation of the coupon from the program.

But here's the skinny dip, folks. There is no date on the coupon. So even if the Hornets don't score 100 points when you go, you can still get a free half-meal (or 1/3 meal, depending on your appetite).

For instance, the Hornets scored 102 points Wednesday at the Nest. I watched the game from work. Yet there I was Thursday afternoon getting a free chicken wrap from the Popeye's around the corner from my house.

Worker: Is this all?
Me: Yup.
Worker: You sure?
Me: Yup.

And then I ran out of there like I stole something. I still have all the programs from the games I went to this season (they're in my car) and have cut out all the coupons. I'm ready.

Next time you go to a game pick up a bunch of copies of the program. The workers don't care. There's thousands and thousands of them. Then the day after the Wasps score 100, go around town and get a whole bunch of wraps. It'll be awesome. Or kind of sad. One of the two.

PARTING SHOTS
D doesn't believe the hype about some freshman.

D: Anybody ever see (name of kid)?
Brick: I got a picture of him.

We're watching the Hornets-T'Wolves game.

Gamby: Mo Pete's on fire.
Liam: Put him out.

Brick tells the office that I called off the Marcus-Jelly cursing bet.

Brick: Gene said it's old and tired. It's done.
Marcus: Just like The Gene Pool.

(That's not nice.)

THE DAILY TOP LIST
My favorite five Super Bowls. (Chronological order not on purpose.)

5) Giants 20, Bills 19. XXV.
I remember the Buffalo squad kneeling and holding hands on the sideline right before Wide Right. Poor kids.

4) Broncos 31, Packers 24. XXXII.
Great game. Plus, Brett Favre lost.

3) Rams 23, Titans 16. XXXIV.
I think the whole 1-yard shy thing has been a bit exaggerated. He wasn't that close.

2) Patriots 20, Rams 17. XXXVI.
And I never cheered for New England again.

1) Giants 17, Patriots 14. XLII.
Ah, the Great Helmet Escape Catch. '72 Dolphins, baby.

NEVER LEAVE HOME WITHOUT THEM.

On Monday afternoon, I still could feel the effects of Saturday night's debauchery. Not so much in my head. I didn't have a headache. I felt in my stomach. Like I might vomit again or something.

MLK Day, however, was the fourth game of my 10-game Hornets package. So, I had to ignore the urge to sleep all day. I'm still trying to take a different person to every game. If you haven't been and want to go, let me know. I finally convinced Tina to attend a Hornets game with me. The 2:30 start time certainly helped.

I wanted to get there early because the first 8,000 fans received David West bobbleheads. Paul got there much earlier than us and kept our spot in line. He's also selling my second D-West bobble on E-bay. The West one, unlike the CP3 one, doesn't quite resemble Mr. West. Ugh. Ironically, Monday's game was the first D-West missed with back spasms.

Tina and I left a little before 1 p.m. Paul called while I was driving to see how far away we were. I tell him about 20 minutes.

Paul: OK. The line is filling up pretty quick.
Me: All right. I'll go fast and hope not to get a speeding ticket.
Tina: Speaking of which. You have our tickets?
Me: Paul, I might be a little longer than 20 minutes. Gotta go back home.

That's right. I left the tickets at the house and had to turn around, which probably cost us 15 minutes. Tina was super excited about my mess up. "Un-fucking-believable. Are you kidding me?" After I retrieved the tickets and we were back on the road for 10 minutes, she said: "I can't believe you forgot the fucking tickets."

I dropped Tina off in front of the Arena and parked. I found Paul and her in line just as they were entering the building. Perfect timing, if you ask me. Plus, the Wasps are now 4-0 in my 10-game package games. On a CP3 buzzer-beater, no less. That was awesome. I think that moment healed my hangover.

Most of the concession places were closed for MLK Day. The few that were open had some long-ass lines. No way I was standing in that. Everyone in this picture is in the Cheeseburger line. It forms a circle.

With D-West down, I was hoping that meant playing time for Ju-Ju. I took a picture of him (he's following through on his shot) during warm-ups. He entered the game late in the third quarter. There was like a 1/4 standing ovation for him. I was in that number. Ju-Ju was even in on defense in crunch time.

Much of the entertainment Monday involved kiddies. There was a Hornets mini-drum line, two separate contests involving mini goals and a youth Hornets hip-hop dance routine. Usually, there's not much kids stuff. Must be a day-game thing. The youngster shown here had trouble dunking. Awww.

During a Honeybees dance segment, Tina turns to me and says: "Is it me or are they fucking up really bad?" (How the heck should I know.)

Another commercial break contest had two dudes dribbling around cones. Each contestant also was playing for a section of the audience to win some free Sonic stuff. The dude who won was playing for section 312, which just happens to be my section. First time I've ever won anything at a game.

Here's the catch, though. The contest took place with less than six minutes remaining in the first half. Some Hornets worker (who didn't know what the prize was) told us that to claim our winnings we had to walk around the building to section 302 before halftime.

What a f'n joke. Hey, you won, folks. Go crazy. But we can't just give you a gift certificate, or whatever. No. You have to get up right now and walk around the Arena and miss part of the game you paid to watch. Bullshit. Hardly anyone from our section got up. Though I think most of them didn't even know we won something.

Paul, always one to claim free stuff, took my ticket (he actually bought a ticket in a different section) and headed over to 302. Did he return with several coupons to Sonic like the lady next to us did? Nope. He found a different prize area, where they took his ticket and gave him a beer. Actually, that's more useful than the expiring Sonic coupons.

That's not the Hornets huddling in the middle of the paint. Nope. That's the team crowded around Tyson, who just went down in a heap. That was a nasty looking fall. I, of course, feared the worse, though later reports indicate he'll return in a couple of weeks. Whew.

Counting D-West, three Hornets were hurt by halftime. I thought it was four, but CP was just sitting out because of foul trouble. I sent Lopes a text that said: Four Hornets hurt. He responded (and quickly): Three cute honeybees, two radio guys and chris paul shoulda been mvp. Ah, the Christmas spirit lives.

During the second half, we had our Paul idiot moment of the week. After CP3 makes a steal, Paul turns to me and asks: "Is Paul's steals streak still alive?" (D, can I get a whistle?)

THE TINA CURSING CORNER

My mom wakes up while I'm watching TV early Thursday morning. I tell her about something. "I don't want to hear your shit right now. Can't you see I just woke up. I didn't hear one word you just said."

At various points today for reasons unknown, mom yelled: "Son of a bitch."

Mom sees pieces of yellow and red construction paper in my coat pocket. "What the fuck is that for?" (I can't tell you, either.)

FOUR CORNERS
A closer look at The Gene Pool World

-- When I woke up Monday, I noticed that my left eye was blood-shot. There was a full, dark red circle to the left of my pupil. I didn't think much of it because it didn't hurt.

On Tuesday afternoon, Tina looked at my eye closely. "Your fucking eye is worse." Actually, each day it has cleared up a little bit more. She keeps urging me to go to the doctor; I'm more inclined to just let it heal itself. I'm fairly certain I popped a blood vessel while throwing up eight times Sunday morning.

-- I'm done with the first season of Spin City using Netflix. Not as good as I thought it would be, but I did enjoy it. My next show to tackle is Lost. The first disc arrived this afternoon. Any show that refers to its season premiere as an "event" has to be excellent, right?

-- I took an opportunity to try to be a bookie at the beginning of the year. Marcus and Jelly had both vowed to stop cursing, and everyone assumed that wouldn't last. So, I took bets as to who would crack first. To my surprise, most all the money came in on Jelly.

Well, January is almost over, and neither one has cussed. Besides making the office much less exciting, the bet has lost all its luster. No one is really concerned with it anymore. I'm calling the whole thing off. It's over.

The breakdown for the betting went like this: If Jelly cursed first, I lose $21. If Marcus succumbs first, I win fifty cents.

-- Volkswagen called Tuesday. It was the same lady who served me the other week and called to follow-up last Tuesday. I could tell she had no recollection of our previous two encounters. In fact, she thought this was the first time she called to ask about my service.

Service rep (assuming): So everything was to your satisfaction?
Me: We played this game last week.
Service rep: Oh, we did?
Me: Yes.
Service rep: Oh, sorry about that. Anything you wanted to add then?
Me: No.

I didn't feel like explaining to her again how she fucked up, mostly because I was tired. As Jelly said: "So, she can't even do that part of her job right."

PARTING SHOTS
I tell Jelly that a Giants receiver got shot.

Liam: Where's Plaxico?

D mourns the firing of the Grizzlies coach.

D: That poor guy. He never had a chance.
Liam: He ain't dead, D.

THE DAILY TOP LIST
My favorite five local personal-injury attorney slogans

5) It's just (snap) that easy. Morris Bart.
The Hornets should have him say that to the crowd before games. Morris: "Beating the Spurs, it's just (snaps finger along with the crowd) that easy."

4) Get the E Guarantee. E. Eric Guirard.
Not exactly sure what that means, but he does have associates.

3) Before you accept a quick check, (rip) check with me. Michael Hingle.
He'll take that 18-wheeler to court, and it won't be so big.

2) When you don't know the law, you need to know Anthony Taormina.
A beautiful jingle.

1) One Call. That's All. Morris Bart.
Classic. I love when his clients tell you how much he won for them.

BEST WEDDING EVER. NO. SERIOUSLY. PART IV.

I don't know much about history. Don't know much biology. Don't.know much about a science book. Don't know much about the French I took (I never took French). But I do know that I loved Gillie and Brian's big day. And I know that if I get married some way. What a wonderful world this would be.

During the beginning of the two-hour dance session, my goal was to get redrunk. I didn't want to do this. I had to do this. It's the only way I can perform my signature dance, which probably will now be required of me at every wedding I attend, as long as I can walk.

After the eighth jack and coke (and third since the speeches and dinner), I was pretty sure I was back to a drunken state. Just to make sure, though, I spun around and looked at the bartender. Me: "One more, my man." Bartender: "Coming right up." Like I said yesterday, he knows me.

As I was nearing completion of J&C No. 9, a new song came on. The beat sounded familiar, and I knew it was time. Just a small-town girl. Living in a lonely world. I cracked my neck and did some stretching, Billy Hoyle style. I felt my arm being grabbed. It was Chuck, who then directed me to the left side of the dancing area and cleared some space. Greatest usher ever, I tell you.

The people that knew what was about to happen were down-right giddy. The rest of the peoples seemed confused. It would soon become clear to them. For a smile they can share the night. I chugged the rest of the drink, as Jenna took away the glass. Whiskey is to my dance what water/Gatorade is to an athlete. Yeah. I just went SAT on your ass.

My dance starts at the chorus. Strangers waiting. Up and down the boulevard. I'm not going to explain how it goes. You have to see it live. Unless, of course, Darren puts it on Youtube (as promised) and I link to it.

The dance started back in 2004 when I declared that year the Year of Gene (there was a symbol and everything) with the Journey ballad as my theme. The routine has developed over the years into the perfection witnessed Saturday night.

Lil' Joe told me afterward that he was standing next to some first-time viewers. The final chorus was approaching.
Lil' Joe: Now watch this. He's about to do the worm.
First-timer: No way. He's done too much already.

Don't stop believin'. Hold on to that feelin'. Streetlight people.

When that part of the song repeated, I knew another worm was expected. I hadn't planned that far in advance. I dropped down, but my drunk-ass body didn't move. I returned to my feet and slapped myself silly. Then, I did the second worm. Only for Gillie and Brian, though. Otherwise, it would have been one and done.

Gillie's best childhood friend Nicole was so impressed, she offered to hustle to the bar and get me my next drink.

Nicole: What'll you have?
Me: Jack and coke, please.

And that's how I reached the pedestal of 10 jack and cokes at the reception. I also had to take off the next three songs to recuperate. That shit was exhausting, yo.

After the six-hour reception came to a halt at 10 p.m, we moved the party to Pat O's. That bitch was crowded, and it took forever for the group to find each other. Eventually, we did on the patio. At work Tuesday, Jelly tells me she was also on the patio at Pat O's on Saturday night after a wedding she attended. Tragically, we didn't cross paths. That would have been legen - wait for it - dary.

Nick handed me a Hurricane right after we got there. What else was I supposed to do but drink it. I went to the bathroom after finishing half of it. However, I had to stop and chat with six (get that? six) members of the Rummel 2002 graduating class on my way. (I called one of them by the wrong name. Oops.)

By the time I got back, my drink was gone. I then accidentally spilled Kate's Hurricane. We decided to split the next one, though I drank most of it before spilling that one as well.

My car was in my driveway at home, and it didn't look like anybody there was going to be in any condition to drive me to H-town. I should have "accidentally stayed at the Ritz" like Jelly. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. I sent out distress texts to several Yats throughout the night.

Paul got the message, and before you knew it, he was at Pat O's. He didn't quite fit in with the party, being how he was sober and all. The son of a gun saved the day by taking me home after I stumbled to his car. What a guy.

This is what I looked like for a good portion of the after party at Pat O's. At some point, I yelled: "Now, this is happening," and I put my tie around my head. I believe those star thingies with the red head strap belong to Gillie. Not quite sure how they got on my head.

And the elephant got passed around like a salt shaker. At least three other people (Josh, Darren and Brian) wore the elephant. I feel like I had it on for a really long time, though.

Paul made a recording on his iPhone of me blabbering on about something. I haven't heard it yet. Time must pass. I do remember I was telling Dara the story of Lil' Joe and me driving to Atlanta for the Cubs-Braves game in 2003. I don't know why I was telling this. Plus, I kept getting interrupted. But dammit, I finished it.

I also was high-fiving random people around us and screaming to the crowd (that includes people with us and not with us) that I was seeking a makeout partner. Me: "I have made out with 14 women. I'm looking for No. 15." Strangely enough, I didn't get any takers.

THE TINA CURSING CORNER

My mom doesn't like the next-door neighbors to our right. She refers to the two kids as animals. She's always saying, "They need to move to the country." She had to yell at them the other day. She tells me about it later. "The little shits were playing with the remote-control car on my lawn. I was like, 'What the fuck?' "

Mom is excited to talk about the Obama inauguration gaffe. "Not one fucking TV station had it. (A big smile comes across her face.) But the fucking paper did." ... "They also had four or five fucking pages on Michelle's fashion."

During House, FOX shows an ad for that night's 24. Except you can clearly tell it's for an episode a few weeks away. Morons. Anyway, Jack is talking to the president, who thinks he's a traitor. "She don't know who the fuck Jack is? Like hello. He saved the fucking president twice." (And the country several more times.)

Mom has a theory during Monday's House. "He's fucking crazy. I think he broke the fucking pipe on purpose."

HORNETS THOUGHTS: VERSION III.

1) I hope all the chirpers out there bitching about getting rid of West and Chandler saw the past two games. Sure, those two guys have been down a little. But when you look at CP3, his face says: "I miss my buddies. My buddies and me."

2) Ju Ju's first-half line Wednesday: Nine points, five rebounds, steal, 15 minutes. If that doesn't open Byron Scott's eyes, then I shall declare him blind and get him a seeing-eye dog.

3) The Hornets have several bad possessions a game. I mean really bad. Usually involves CP dribbling too much or multiple people passing up 3s. But they are forced to throw up crazy shots at the shot-clock buzzer an estimated three times per game. Somebody should keep these kind of stats.

4) Rasual Butler is money from the corner. I bet he's above 50 percent on 3s from either corner. He's not so good from the top of the key.

5) I love Antonio Daniels. Or as I like to call him: the anti-Mike James (who?). He's been more effective than we could have hoped as Paul's backup. He's done so well that Scott has him out there with CP sometimes.

PARTING SHOT

I refer to UNC as "we." Brick, who went to UNO, is aghast.

Brick: At least I went to the school I call we.

Liam: I also went to the school you call we.

Derry: We-We.

THE DAILY TOP LIST

My five favorite cover songs of all-time.

5) Always Be My Baby. David Cook. Mariah Carey.

Deep and powerful as opposed to soft and sensual.

4) All Along the Watchtower. Jimi Hendrix. Bob Dylan.

Probably the best of all-time. I guess that's what happens when you combine supposedly the best song writer of all-time and supposedly the best guitarist of all-time.

3) Last Kiss. Pearl Jam. Wayne Cochran.

A real tear-jerker. I always cheer for the woman to live.

2) Helter Skelter. U2. The Beatles.

Bono and the gang bring a lot of energy to this cover. Special thanks to Charlie Manson for the inspiration.

1) Smooth Criminal. Alien Ant Farm. Michael Jackson.

It's my favorite Michael song turned into a fast-paced rock-a-thon.

BEST WEDDING EVER. NO. SERIOUSLY. PART III.

As the days since Gillie and Brian's wedding mount, I will look back on it with more and more fondness. So many people I've missed over the past few years (you know who you are) were all gathered together Saturday night. It reminded me of the good ole days from 2003 to early 2005. And boy, did we ever celebrate it right.

I wanted to say something nice about Gillie and Brian. You know, the reason we were all able to reunite. But then I read Lisa's reflection on the weekend. I can't say it any better. Here's an excerpt: "They are people who open others' eyes, who make everyone around them better and happier. Bri and Gill are excellent apart, but together they form a beautiful team, a rarity among couples."

In the middle of the reception, it was time for three things: dinner, me sobering up and speeches. Our first speaker was Gillie's sister, Melia. I felt bad for the rest of the speakers when she was done because they stood about a zero percent chance of being able to follow her.

She started by talking about their bond as sisters (they finish each other's sentences) and Gillie as an infant. Love the image of Melia dragging a blanket down the hall with baby Gillie attached. She quoted Zoolander, saying how the couple was "ridiculously good-looking." Hope you don't mind me using that at wedding receptions for the next 10 years. Good.

Melia mentioned that Brian was the perfect fit into their family. Awww. She then expertly explained the reason for Gillie's overwhelming popularity. "Every body likes her. Girls like her because she'll do girlie things. She'll put on makeup and have girls night out and go dancing (that was a paraphrase.) And boys like her because the day after that, she'll play tackle football with them."

To which I 3/4 yelled out: "BALLS TO THE WALL!" That stopped the speech. The seven or eight tables that could hear me all turned around. There was a mixture of laughter and stunned silence. One of the Virginian Triumvirate sitting next to me said: "If anyone asks, I didn't tell you to say that."

To her credit, Melia picked up her speech in stride and finished with a touching I-love-you-both-so-much-have-a-happy-life spiel. I think Chuck and Nick really liked my joke, as evident by their hearty chuckles. At first, I regretted yelling it. But then I saw Gillie look my way and point as if to say, "Right on, Gener. Right on."

Balls to the Wall merits an explanation. In my sophomore year, Chuck (aka JAWBREAKER), Nick (aka CRIME FIGHTER), Gillie (aka PRIMETIME), Jenna (aka OLD CROW) and myself (aka PAPER BOY) started a football league called BALLS OUT. Cuz that's the way we played, bitches.

The teams were Nick and Gillie against Chuck and Jenna, with me as all-time QB. Gillie and Jenna had white shirts with green sleeves made. The front said BALLS OUT, and the back had our nicknames. Before every game (ironically played at Loyola's Peace Quad), Gillie would get a serious look on her face and say: "Balls to the Wall, man." (Gillie, do you remember the time North tackled you? One of the strangest moments ever.)

So, uh, yeah. Try yelling that out at the next wedding reception you attend. Trust me.

The final speech came from Brian. It was so freaking cool and romantic and insane and exhilarating and dashing that I nearly didn't believe him. It almost had to be from a movie or TV show. Notice that the first letter of the five words I used to describe the speech spell CRIED. As in people cried after hearing the story.

Gillie and Brian had been dating for a year when they drove from New Orleans to California and back after Gillie graduated in 2005. There was an accident in Texas, and their car did several flips. Thankfully, they weren't extremely injured. In the wreckage, Brian came across an intact bottle of wine they got from a wine tasting in Sonoma.

That romantic bastard kept the bottle of wine for the next three and a half years, and he opened it Saturday at the reception for them to drink on their wedding day. How awesome is that? If I can one day get married and half a story 1/4 as precious as that one, I'll be a happy man.

By the time Brian finished his speech, I was, dare I say, completely sober. I took care of that by getting five more jack and cokes in the next two hours. On my eighth one of the night, the bartender cut me off mid-sentence.

Me: Yes. I'll have ...
Bartender (with a knowing smile): A jack and coke?
Me (in my J.D. voice): It's like you know me.

After the speeches, we rocked the dance floor for the next two hours. We wore that sumbitch out. The best songs to me were SHOUT!, any Beatles song that played, Shake Your Tailfeather (our 2003-04 apartment theme song) and, what was that other one? Oh yeah. Don't Stop Believin'. (More on that tomorrow.)

I'd hate to end this portion of the Best Wedding Ever. No. Seriously. on a sad note. But I am. I don't remember the song (and am glad I don't), but the final jam (which it was announced as before it played) was a slow-dance song.

Most everyone paired up. Except I was left alone. I watched the final dance from my Table 13 seating position. That sucked. Sorry for the downer. Despite that low, it was still the best wedding ever. That should tell you how awesome the rest of the night went.

In tomorrow's final installment: I dance for the kiddies, and we hit Pat O's for the after party.

THE TINA CURSING CORNER

As I'm waking up today, I hear my mom from the living room. "What the fuck is happening? This can't be. What the fuck is going on? This is crazy. Are you fucking kidding me? What the hell? I need this fucking thing to walk. I don't understand. This is fucking crazy."

Mom was talking about her treadmill, which is in the process of breaking. She tells me later: "The fucking belt is coming off on my shoes." ... "I'm just going to use it until it fucking brakes."

Mom is upset that I didn't download some book that Oprah told her she needs to have. "You had a whole fucking week to do it."

I tell mom that the FBI chick in 24 should have realized Jack was good during the ride in the van. She didn't quite understand me. "I think she realized it in the fucking grave."

Mom is in awe of Clint Eastwood. "He's got some career under his fucking belt. Fucking still acting. His mom is still alive, too. She goes to all the award shows."

Mom opens a letter from T-Mobile. It tells her they can't accept her rebate check. "Are you fucking kidding me? I'm so sick of getting fucked every time. They fucked me. She fucked me at the store, and now they fucked me on the rebate."

I read the letter. Her monthly plan isn't expensive enough to warrant a rebate. Of course, the lady at the store failed to mention this.
Me: Do you understand what happened?
Mom: Yeah. I got fucked.

Mom is watching the President and First Lady walk the streets. "How long they got to fucking walk? Her feet must be fucking killing her. Yeah. She looks like she's fucking tired."

Mom tells me about Obama's mess-up during the swearing in by swearing. "He fucked up. Yeah. He had to start over. He fucked up."

PARTING SHOTS
D asks me if facebook has important information about people. I say sort of.

D: Somebody'll come and kidnap you.
Jelly: Gene? I don't think so.
D: Oh. They'd probably bring him back, wouldn't they?
Jelly: Uh-huh.

We're discussing Marcus' habit of asking us when a sporting event will end.

Me: He'll ask about anything, even motorcross events.
Brick: Well, that one is understandable. I don't know how long those take. Hey, do motorcross races have fat ladies?

Gamby doesn't believe how much I drank at the wedding.

Gamby: I don't think it was jack and coke. He may have been drinking cherry coke.

THE DAILY TOP LIST
I'm in the wedding mood. My top five TV weddings.

5) Monica and Chandler. Friends.
The classic husband getting cold feet thingy.

4) Amy and Robert. Everybody Loves Raymond.
Jungle Love. It's driving me mad. It's making me crazy.

3) Lily and Marshall. How I Met Your Mother.
A beautiful outdoor ceremony.

2) Carla and Turk. Scrubs.
Even though Turk went to the wrong Church.

1) Kelly and Woody. Cheers.
A dead priest. A drunk priest. Wild, rabid dogs. Quitting caterers. An unapproving father. A cheating wife with an angry German husband wielding a knife. A bride and groom more interested in having sex than having the ceremony. And yet Sammy's hair never wavered.